


i want this(more than life)

by jadedpearl



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (idk if id even call it angst tho but ya know ya know), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, M/M, Mutual Pining, instrospective?? sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedpearl/pseuds/jadedpearl
Summary: Keith can tell Lance is thinking about his family, but all he can think about is the expanse of the desert, the shades of red in the mesas and plateaus at sunset. His shack, maps tacked to the walls, pushpins scattered across the floor, the radio he'd listen to when he wasn't exploring caves and tracking signals.As much as the desert made him feel small, Keith thinks, looking over at Lance’s profile, space makes him smaller.





	

Keith is already pulling at his armor, helmet tugged off and set by his feet, when Lance enters the foyer after a day in space with the lions. 

“You call that flying?” Keith calls across the hall, annoyed despite himself. “You could have gotten us all killed like that.” 

“Oh, like you’re not going to give me a heart attack, going off on your own all the time,” Lance says, immediately defensive, pulling his helmet off and tucking it under his arm. “You have the impulse control of a toddler.” 

Keith refrains from huffing or stamping his foot, two things that Lance makes him want to do an unfortunate amount of the time. “I  _ do not _ , and besides, I don’t see how it’s an issue. My plans work.”  _ Usually. _

“We can’t form Voltron if you’re dead,” Lance points out, rolling his eyes. 

“Whatever,” Keith says, just to have the last word, and turns on his heel down the hall to his room, grabbing his helmet as he goes. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Lance calls down the hallway.  

Keith ignores him, even though he’s itching for a fight, itching to throw a punch. He doesn’t bother showering after peeling out of his armor, heads to the training arena instead. He attacks Altean droid after droid, until he drops to the floor in exhaustion, eagle spread against the slightly soft floor of the arena. 

Keith is self aware to know that arguing with Lance doesn’t get anyone anywhere. He’s self aware enough to know that it could even be holding the team back. And he’s almost self aware enough to know why he just can’t let it go, why he’s fixated on Lance. 

It’s just easier not to think about it.

 

————

 

It’s the sort of thing that they’ve never talked about, but there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of them. They’re not  _ dumb,  _ and it didn’t even take that long to realize that the rivalry and the constant bickering was mostly just attention seeking behavior on both of their parts and–

It wasn’t that hard to figure it out. Keith was sort of– _ watching _ Lance, and thought  _ Oh. _ And a couple of days later, he and Lance made eye contact and even though Keith wasn’t–isn’t–that good with people, with picking up cues, there was still a silent communication. That  _ now isn’t the time. _ Not just from those brief seconds, of course, but over multiple such interactions, it’s easy to get the picture. 

And they’re right, of course–now isn’t the time. Anyone on their team–Shiro and Allura especially–would say so. Even Hunk would say so, and Hunk is probably the most supportive person Keith’s ever met, when it comes to Lance. 

Sometimes, up here, in a flying castle with only six other people, when the distance between planets and outposts stretches into days, weeks, it feels like they have all the time in the world. 

The hard part is reminding himself that they don’t, not at all.

 

————

 

The castle is full of windows out to space. Keith guesses that it’s part of the ship’s weird powers that keep them all intact, because they’re  _ everywhere _ . He’s not the biggest fan of them–it’s unsettling, to look at stars that he saw from Earth at a different vantage point. He’s smart enough to know that he’s about as safe as he can be in the ship–but he’s human enough that his stomach twists, slightly, when he walks by them. 

Lance doesn’t seem to be affected. He’s sitting on the floor, forehead practically touching the glass, staring out at the nebula passing by beneath them. Keith slows despite himself, pretends to watch something besides the other boy, the way starlight is turning the tips of his hair silver against the darkness of the corridor.

"Do you miss earth at all?" Lance asks, and Keith isn’t sure if he’s even talking to him, talking to anyone. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, chin tucked on his knees, curled tight into himself, watching the expanse of space outside the observation deck windows. There’s something hollow about his voice right now. The nebula fades behind them, and now there's almost nothing to see out there—inky blackness with objects off in the distance reflecting lights glinting from the hull of the ship. They’re not in hyper drive, or anything, so Keith gets a sort of dreamlike feeling that they’re floating when he looks out the windows.    


Keith can tell Lance is thinking about his family, but all he can think about is the expanse of the desert, the shades of red in the mesas and plateaus at sunset. His shack, maps tacked to the walls, pushpins scattered across the floor, the radio he'd listen to when he wasn't exploring caves and tracking signals.   


As much as the desert made him feel small, Keith thinks, looking over at Lance’s profile, space makes him smaller.    


And it’s too  _ much, _ and he knows he  _ shouldn’t _ , so he doesn’t tell Lance about the way he misses wind, Earth wind, carrying dust and dirt and thousands of years, misses it all so much that it hurts sometimes. He doesn’t tell him that it’s not people he misses, because there aren’t any, not anymore, but that it’s the  _ feeling _ . The feeling that he had some semblance of control. Being a paladin—piloting a lion—he has more power than he ever did before, but there are times when he thinks he’s going to be swallowed by the weight of it.

“I miss my stuff,” he says simply. Lance doesn’t look at him, but Keith doesn’t care if it'll alienate himself from Lance—because if that's what he needs to do, he'll do it—but he knows about Lance’s family. Knows about all of his aunts and sisters and nephews and cousins and adoptive family friends and pets and his  _ parents _ .    


Keith knows they're both a little jealous for what they can't have.

He doesn’t regret it, as he walks away from the windows and the endless darkness, of the nuances and stone cold facts of space, from the boy sitting in front of it all, a component of the universe’s most powerful weapon, but not a master of his fate. 

He doesn’t regret it, but he wishes he didn’t even have to make the choice. 

 

————

 

Space is beautiful, calculating, cold. Space is intensity, fire, as unpredictable as rain in the desert. And, above all, space is a setting, not a character. It has no personal say in Keith, or Lance, or the two of them together. If they fall to Zarcon, it’ll continue on to the the day that it reverts back to the size of a pinhead, or explodes further, further, further. 

So it shouldn’t matter. Two paladins–two boys–and their feelings don’t matter in the grand scheme of the universe. 

(But they do.)

He thinks about the universe. He thinks about Zarcon, and the Galra, and the prisoners and Shiro's PTSD and Pidge's missing brother and father and the family that Lance and Hunk never got to say goodbye to.    


It shouldn't matter.    


(But it does.)

 

————

 

They’re out exploring when Keith and Lance are forced to land on some sort of tropical, mostly uninhabited planet. 

Keith says “forced to land” because they didn’t exactly crash, but they still have to wait for their lions to reboot, so to speak, before they can rejoin the rest of the crew. And he says “mostly uninhabited” because besides the bugs and trees and humidity, there isn’t much else that he can see that’s worth writing home about. Or rather, writing back to the castle about.

And the  _ reason  _ why it’s only Lance and Keith that are “forced to land” is because everyone–Shiro, Lance, Pidge, Hunk, Keith–had been doing some Voltron team exercise a few thousand feet above the ground when something had– _ happened _ , and they were all thrown out of Voltron and to the ground. 

“I’m just gonna assume everyone’s okay,” Lance pants. It’s gotta be a hundred degrees, and on top of that, they’re wearing their paladin armor. Lance’s hair is practically glued to his temples, and the rest of it is fluffed up. Keith absolutely does not find it endearing. 

Keith doesn’t say anything, only watches the red lion from where they’re sitting in the shade of a plant that he really, really hopes doesn’t turn out to be carnivorous. Lance is already stretched out on his back, arms spread in an effort to stay cool. It doesn’t seem like it’s working. 

All Keith can think about is how they were thrown out of Voltron because they’re not quite syncing up like they should be, and how this could be very, very, bad.

(He’s pretty sure he knows the reason why.)

“You should lay down,” Lance pipes up, craning his neck in a ridiculous way to look at Keith. “It’ll spread the heat out, or something.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Keith says, but he complies, carefully leaning back and wincing when a rock digs into his side. He digs it out, tosses it at Lance, who isn’t quite fast enough to bat it away. It hits him on the arm.

“Fuck you.” Lance says, but there’s no heat behind it. “Drop out.” 

“Runner-up,” Keith counters, without missing a beat. “And I didn’t drop out, I was kicked out.” He raises his hands in the air to weakly make air quotes: “‘Discipline issues.’”

“Same difference,” Lance says, and then they’re quiet. 

Keith is too tired to flinch when, a few minutes later, Lance’s hand drops over his own and stays there, but he registers it anyway. It feels– _ nice _ , even though they’re sweaty and it’s way too hot to touch anyone right now. 

“Lance–” he starts, uncertainty, hesitantly, unsure of how to end the sentence. His name hangs in the humid air, and the conversation dies before it starts. 

And the thing is, there’s no way of knowing what’ll happen tomorrow, if there’ll  _ be _ a tomorrow. And maybe if they had more days that didn’t involve nearly dying, that didn’t involve having to hold the weight of the free people of the universe in their hands, maybe it could happen. It’s hard enough being  _ friends _ with people that could die at an any time, that could die because of  _ him _ , and, well. Keith can’t even imagine how hard it would be to live like that with someone who was  _ more _ than a friend. It’s bad enough when Lance gets hurt  _ now, _ bad enough when they wake up in separate rooms in the morning and have to be nothing more to each other than paladins.  

The problem is that there’s no  _ time _ . 

If Keith had the time, he would—

They could—

“I know,” Lance says finally. “I know we’re not supposed to.” 

_ I barely care anymore _ , Keith thinks, feeling dizzy, almost like he’s watching everything play out from above. 

“Let’s just stay here, okay?” 

 

————

 

“Okay.”

 

————

  
  


“You’re lucky I could comm you in.” 

“I know, PIdge.” 

“You’re lucky we found you.” 

Keith doesn’t point out that it’s not hard to find two giant lions on one planet when three  _ other  _ giant lions are looking for them. “I  _ know _ , Pidge.” 

They’re alone, the rest gone ahead to the kitchen to eat. Keith has the creeping suspicion that he’s been cornered. 

The feeling is heightened when Pidge looks at him over their glasses. Keith isn’t overly fond of their analytical stare, so he turns away, focuses trying to rub a scuff off his helmet with the heel of his palm instead. 

“You know…” they start, and Keith winces despite himself. “I saw you two. Holding hands.” 

“It didn’t mean anything,” he says automatically, because it’s what he’d been repeating to himself the whole ride back. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Pidge only hums. “Hm. Okay.”

“Okay?” Keith turns back to them. 

“It’s not my business.” 

“ _ Everything  _ is your business.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Not this time.” 

“You saw what happened today. We didn’t mess up for no reason.”

“I guess you should fix that then,” Pidge says, and then they’re leaving. “You should eat before it’s all gone.” 

“It can’t be ‘all gone’,” Keith says, somewhat sullenly. “The castle will just make more.” 

“They’ll find a way,” Pidge calls, and then they’re gone. 

 

————

 

The next night finds them where they were–only Keith is sitting with Lance this time, his forehead pressed against the cold glass of the window in an effort to make his stomach stop floating, to make his hands stop shaking. He’s not afraid of heights,  _ this shouldn’t be so hard _ –

Maybe it’s because of what Pidge said, maybe to take his mind of the infinity that stretches out before them, but he’s talking now. “When I was on earth”– _ alone _ – “I thought a lot about space. About the stars. I didn’t know what I would do, how I would get there after I got kicked out of the Garrison, I just knew I would. And now…” he trails off, not really sure how to say it. 

“It’s different,” Lance finishes. “It’s not like I thought it would be, either.” 

“We don’t even know the way _home_ ,” Keith says, because he’ll try to deny it and he’ll try to shy from it but Earth is his home, in some sort of hidden way. He doesn’t know why he’s talking about it now, all of a sudden, but it’s like he’s realizing that there’s a space in his chest that’s been preoccupied by _this,_ whatever it is, and now it’s coming out. “We don’t even know if we’ll ever go _back_.” He feels _wrong_ , and near hysterical. “There might not even be anywhere to go back _to_.”

“Hey,” Lance says, concern painting his features, his brow furrowed, mouth slightly open. “Hey. Keith.” 

“I think I feel sick,” Keith says distantly, and then he’s standing, away from Lance, away from the window, away from the stars and the suns and the planets. He’s walking back to his room with a hand pressed against his mouth because he can’t tell if he’s going to throw up or if it’s something else. 

Lance calls after him, but doesn’t follow him. 

 

————

 

“ _ Keith _ .”

Living alone for so long had made Keith a light sleeper. The castle is so big that it’s usually not an issue, but it’s still unsettling to hear people passing by his rooms in the morning or at night. 

He pads to the door, feet quiet against the material–not wood, not metal, no stone–of the floors in his rooms. Lance is standing there when he opens it, looking tired and cold. Keith studies the exhaustion ringing his eyes and lets him in. Lance steps carefully, quietly into the room, and Keith realizes that maybe this is the first time he’s ever been in here. He feels watched, in a way. 

“Are you okay?” Lance says, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Keith follows him, sits a careful distance away. 

“I figured you wouldn’t want me to go after you, right away,” he says carefully. Lance, Keith is starting to learn, can be startlingly perceptive–or maybe he’s just obvious. 

“You’re right,” Keith says, because he thinks he ought to. “Thanks.” 

There aren’t sunrises in space, but Coran has rigged the ship so that the lights gradually come on to simulate the effect. It helps them keep a sleep schedule, helps them to feel more human. 

With the curtains in his room drawn, Keith can almost tell himself that he’s back on Earth. In that scenario, Lance would have never been beside him, fighting yawns as the room lightens, but Keith can pretend all the same. 

 

————

 

“Do you always try to fight your way through your problems?” 

Keith turns, chest heaving, vanquished Altean droid at his feet, to see Lance propped in the doorway of the arena. “Usually,” he says, feeling honest. 

“You never spar with me.” 

“I’m probably better than you.” 

Lance stands up straighter, eyes flash. “‘Probably’ doesn’t sound very sure to me. Maybe you’re all talk.” 

Keith snorts. “If anyone’s all talk, it’s you.” 

“So spar with me.” 

It’s not a good idea. Lance is on edge–Keith can feel the tension, making his toes curl in his shoes–and Keith is unsteady, unsure. 

But he nods, and–

There’s a certain frantic grace, to the way they fight. It’s different than brawling, not as strategic as sparring should be. They’re  _ matched _ , fire and ice, and Keith wonders if it means something that they’re not giving ground. 

Allura doesn’t condone using the healing pods for less than serious injuries, but neither hold back, and by the time they’ve collapsed, panting, onto the floor, there’s more than a few nicks and scrapes between them than there were when they started. 

“Why do you want to beat me so bad?” Keith asks finally, staring at the ceiling. 

“Why do you think you’re better than me?” Lance replies, and Keith turns his head to look at him when he says, “I don’t.” 

Lance makes a noise of disbelief from the back of his throat. Keith scowls. “I  _ don’t. _ ” 

“You  _ just said _ , like two minutes ago–”

“At  _ sparring _ , and you proved me wrong.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Look, I–” He doesn't know what he wants to say. Lance looks at him expectantly. “I know I’m bad at it,” Keith says. “People.” 

Lance snorts. “You think?” 

“I mean–” he stops, wills himself to be brave– “I’ve been told I have ‘discipline issues,’” Keith says, edging a bit closer despite himself. 

“So?”

“I’m bad at following rules.” 

“Oh,” Lance says, and then: “ _ Oh. _ ”

Keith waits, because he wants to, but he  _ can’t _ , move his arms from where they’re laying by his sides. 

Lance doesn’t have the same problem, because his hand finds the back of Keith’s neck, Keith never thought that he would  _ want  _ Lance to touch his hair, but all of a sudden, it’s...nice. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, and Keith nods–and then Lance is closer, closer, closer, and he says again, “Is this okay?” and when he does, his breath gusts against Keith’s nose. 

Lance isn’t allowed to be this smooth, so Keith bridges the gap. They’re laying on their sides at this point, and Keith’s arms unfreeze and he raises his hand to Lance’s shoulder. 

And–Keith is kind of new to kissing, and Lance can’t be that experienced either, but the chaste, close mouthed kisses are more than enough, for now. When Lance threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, Keith sighs into his mouth, and then they separate. 

“I never thought I would say this,” Lance says, “But I guess your mullet has some uses.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, face warm and the weight of Lance still on his lips. “Try cutting your own hair sometime, and see what happens.” 

“I’d rather be bald,” Lance declares, and Keith rolls away, covers his face with his hands because he can’t remember the last time he laughed and he’s not sure what his face even looks like right now. 

“Who made the rules, anyway?” Lance wonders out loud, dragging Keith back. He drops his hands, sits up. Lance follows, hair ruffled. “What?” 

“ _ We  _ did,” Keith says, his stomach sinking. “For a good reason.” 

Lance moves closer. “So?” 

“I mean–it was a  _ good reason _ .”  _ Now isn’t the time. _

“Really? Cause I can’t think of it.” 

Keith glares. “ _ Lance _ .” 

“I  _ can  _ think of plenty of good reasons to  _ not  _ follow the rules, though,” Lance says, leaning in close. “My good looks, for one.” 

“ _ Voltron _ , Lance,” Keith says. “The fate of the  _ universe _ .” 

“My excellent piloting skills,” Lance counters, and Keith feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. 

“Lance–” 

“I’m not dumb,” he interrupts. “I know what we’re up against.” He pauses. “And I don’t want to push you into anything.” 

Keith scowls. “You’re not pushing me into anything. I just–”

“So why can’t we?” 

He could say a lot of things right now, he knows. He could talk about their job as paladins. He could talk about Earth. He could talk about how, if they ever  _ did _ break up, or something, it would terrible. 

But when he looks at Lance, eyes soft, doing that weird pleading face that is no less endearing for how not-cute it looks, he sighs. It’s probably the first time that Lance has convinced him to do anything–and even now, it’s mostly because of his own inability to shut himself off, be cold–but he leans forward so that his head is resting on Lance’s shoulder.

“I guess,” he says, after a pause, “I guess we can try.” 

He’s got the fate of the universe in both hands, but Lance’s arms are around his shoulders, and it should make things heavier but–it doesn’t. 

Things feel lighter, somehow. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> K so i know they’re like 17 year olds and this is awfully serious™ BUT sometimes i just think of all the pressure that is put on these kids and i just… :) i also have a lot of existential feelings about space soooo 
> 
> Title is from the song “More than Life” by Whitley 
> 
> I sort of recently fell into Voltron hell so talk to me at aliceinstripes.tumblr.com about klance :,)


End file.
